The Vigilante's Legacy
by kingofthewilderwest
Summary: After four years fighting a three-sided war against power-hungry Drago and the dragon-defending Vigilante, Chief Hiccup and his allies believe it is finally time to decisively end the conflict. Sequel to "The Vigilante's War," which takes place in an AU where Valka is one of Hiccup's greatest antagonists.
1. I A Meeting of Chieftains

**I.**

A table, thin and narrow as a long boat, stretched from one end of the high-ceilinged hall to the other. Fire from an enormous hearth, while bright and strong the flames, could not light the entire expansive room, and thus corners flickered in uneven shadows and cast black glares on the faces of Viking men and women entering their meeting place.

They shuffled in from a storm outside, where torrenting rain and smothering clouds blocked the sun – and thus light – from touching a corner of the world. A grimness darkened their eyes nonetheless; even if fairer weather had accompanied their journey here, every arriving soul would still have entered with the same surly countenance now sported.

A wide variety of beards and braids took their place around the elongated council table. The heavily-plaited graying mustache of a man far from the east end of the Barbaric Archipelago settled beside the explosive red fireworks of a stoic southern chief, while a wrinkled elderly woman wearing a white bear skin hood hovered in the back where the room was darkest. Elsewhere one imposing, large-chested stocky lady chief shoved her way to near the crest of the table, followed by a short, squat tangle of waist-length blonde hair who must have been her daughter. She and the others congregating here exchanged greetings, handshakes, whispers, and shouts as Courageous Kenna hailed Aidan the Attractive, as Logan Longsword heartily thumped Morven the Unsinkable's back, and as Thuggory the Meathead stiffly welcomed the new Bashem-Oik monarch Stormbeard the Serious, an aptly-named man wearing an eruption of hair and ever-furrowed eyebrows. Even the friendliest greetings, though, suffered from strained smiles and worried frowns. Everyone glanced over to the man standing at the head of the table, wondering when he would call everyone to silence and formally commence the meeting.

That man who presided over tonight's council of chieftains leaned over an unfurled map of the archipelago and studied it thoroughly. Occasionally he reached for a pencil at his left-hand side to write in a light mark nearby some of the drawn islands, smudging the cuff of his embroidered maroon and red shirt sleeve in the process. A thin cape draped over his shoulders alongside near-shoulder length brown hair held back in a loose braid, while a brown-black leather headband covered most of his forehead beneath shaggy bangs. He was amongst the youngest of the Vikings assembled, recently turned twenty-four.

Hiccup glanced up from the table of Vikings and sighed weightily, an unwanted burden taxing even his breath. He was not prepared for this. Never would be. Someone else should be doing this, not him.

Nevertheless, it was time to begin.

It was time to put an end to this war.


	2. II A Meeting of Chieftains

**II.**

"Not everyone can see the map here," Hiccup began – or rather, began several times, repeating the same phrase with a bit of a stutter until every tribal representative in the room had sufficiently quieted, "much less read a letter _on_ this map, so I'll try to recap everything that's going on aloud. Drago Bludvist and his allies –" Hiccup grimaced, wishing for an infinite time that the Murderous Tribe, Outcasts, and Berserkers had supported himself rather than the power-hungry Visithugs "– have taken solid control of the north, including the Frozen Isles, Grimbeard's Despair, and the Dragon's Nose. They are as far south as Wrecker's Bay off the coast of Murderous Island, and as far east as Breakneck Bog, the Haunted Marshes, and the Gorge of the Thunderbolt of Thor." An enormous swath of territory they had conquered, hundreds times greater than the land area of Berk, which in itself was smaller than just the Visithug's home island. The mass of enemy territory loomed like an enormous cloud over the small isle on his map.

The young chief traced his pointer finger from the very top of the map to its left-bottom corner and chewed on his lip pensively before continuing. The action slightly stretched his cheeks, the left one of which now supported an obtruding pair of light parallel scars that ran from a slightly-split left nostril to the high point of his cheekbone. An unfortunate encounter two years back with one of the Vigilante's feral dragons caused that – though otherwise, he had been very fortunate these past four years of battle.

"Drago conquering the north in turn has – has ousted the Vigilante from her mountain. She's moved further south…" his eyes traced the route. "We have lost control of Changewing Island, Hysteria, the – the Isle Glum, Fireworm Island, and the Isle Villainy, which frankly no one wanted to live on or control anyway even before it got scorched by her dragons into an uninhabitable crisp." His stray dry comment complete, Hiccup pulled his finger east until it landed on a spattering of small shapes which bedecked a corner of the map's blue sea. "But lately reports suggest that the Vigilante, whose dragon numbers appear to be declining from the effects of the war, has retreated and – and – and withdrawn her hold from many of these islands, and though she has not been seen in person for several months – her dragons are another matter – we guess that she is secluded somewhere within the Mazy Multitudes, perhaps securing a stronghold in the old abandoned Fort Sinister."

"_Confirmed_ in Fort Sinister, actually," a large-nosed Viking chief across the table corrected. He leaned in to provide his report. "My men sailed past the southern part of the Mazy Multitudes and noticed there were teal ice formations jutting out from the shores like giant spears." He raised his arms up in a rather magnificent gesture to accompany his rather unoriginal metaphor.

"Nothing else could make ice like that except her Bewilderbeast," another voice agreed from elsewhere in the room. Around the fire flickers and dancing shadows, heads nodded.

"Fort Sinister, then," Hiccup nodded, grabbed his pencil, and placed a new mark at that location.

Someone bent over from behind him. Breasts hovering near-directly above Hiccup, the wide-shouldered chief of the Bog-Burglar Tribe leaned in to study Hiccup's map closely, and after omitting a rather gruff but nonetheless satisfied snort, pronounced, "If that dragon rider has retreated so much as you say, we have her cornered!" Her alto voice sang through the hall at much greater a volume than Hiccup had been speaking. "We can surround her and finish her off at Fort Sinister and end one front of the war."

"Assuming we can even navigate our ships _to_ Fort Sinister! Have you tried to sail an armada through the Mazy Multitudes?" Yet another contributor to the conversation.

And another. "There's a reason they're called a maze, if you started to think with your head instead of your chest hair. Many a ship has sunk winding through those islands. The waters are shallow, ships are often beached, and those which aren't capsized sail in hopeless circles trying to find a passage through the archipelago."

"We're fighting a war against two armies, fire-breathing five ton dragons, a war-conquering tyrant, and an island-sized Bewilderbeast controlled by a bloody lunatic, and you're more worried about steering your boat through a cluster of _islands_?"

"Yes, in fact, I am." The previous speaker slammed his hand down firmly on the table. Even had he not, his emphatic intonation alone would have garnered the attention of everyone in the room, for Logan Longsword was well-respected amongst the Vikings in the Barbaric Archipelago. More than a little gray grew like snakes throughout his beard, and much of that gray had been well-earned by experience. His sunken wrinkled eyes panned throughout the room as he explicated his concerns. "The point of the matter is, no one sails enough in the Mazy Multitudes to know a clear route which would get us from the open ocean to the shores of Fort Sinister. Those islands have been abandoned for centuries. Our ancestors who used to occupy Fort Sinister either left us no good map, or we've gone and lost all the copies." He shook his head, beard rustling up against his breastplate. "Prayers to Hlin and Njörður for divine guidance would be our best strategy for navigating those treacherous waters, and even then, the gods might not preserve us. It could take us_ weeks_ to cover ground we elsewise would cover in a day! And during those weeks, that dragon rider will spot us, attack us, and defeat us."

"Berk's dragons could –"

"Berk doesn't have _enough _dragons to force out the Vigilante by themselves! Even when their dragons were hale and in their full numbers –" many casualties had occurred during the past four years "–they wouldn't have been enough to take her down! If you know _anything_ about what the history and legends have said about Fort Sinister, it's that it's impenetrable. No one has ever successfully conquered it during a war. If we want to break past its walls and seize the Vigilante – Odin, if we even want to _make it to the foot of that fort _– we need some careful planning. She might be cornered, oh yes, she might be cornered, but the great war god Týr well knows she's _far_ from being defeated."

A short silence in the hall loomed eerily over the heads of every Viking representative.

"Dragons could still be of use, though, as scouts," Longsword's opponent finally returned. It was a beautiful, tall, steel-eyed young woman named Tantrum who spoke. Her flame red hair and green eyes seemed to cast their own light in the room, ignited by her internal heated temperament. "It would be possible for riders to sneak undetected into the Mazy Multitudes and fly overhead to chart a route to the stronghold."

For a short moment it appeared as though Longsword would open his mouth to dispute, but listening to the pealing majority around the hall supporting Tantrum's suggestion, instead snapped his mouth shut.

"Let me see that map," Logan finally sighed, and Hiccup passed over the paper to the left side of the table.

This did not, inevitably, end all debate on the matter. A high-volume dispute commenced. Frustrated gesticulations. Fervent points hammered. Ideas projected and discarded. Head shakes. Head nods. Thankfully, more of the latter occurred the further on in the discussion they headed.

"Sail over from this path once the scouts return…"

"If we send the Bog-Burglars over to the eastern entrance of the fortress and…"

"No, we need them over to the south…"

"South then."

"While all the Bashem-Oiks will lend support after the initial assault…"

"Good, good."

"Berk will send its dragons…"

"No, you remember the last time Berk's dragons attacked the Vigilante's? She almost gained control of them!"

More discussion.

"The dragons have to stay north, protecting the borders between our territories and the Visithugs."

"Oh? And what about _Drago's_ Bewilderbeast?"

The steady, churning flow of discussion suddenly halted. Everyone turned to stare at the woman who spoke up.

"Drago's… _what_?" Chief Bertha intoned dramatically from behind Hiccup. The young Berk leader in front of her flinched from her booming voice, then glared up, greatly irked at her unnecessary shouting.

The first chief responded, her voice ringing out through the hallway, "You mean you didn't know Drago Bludvist just captured a young Bewilderbeast?"

Wide-eyed, Hiccup responded, "No. And that _might_ have been good to mention at the, you know, start of this meeting?"

"Anything else you'd like to share?" someone else growled.

"In the last battle up north between myself and some of the Visithugs, we caught sight of Drago attempting to control a very young Bewilderbeast – not full grown, but still a monster – by waving his staff in a similar manner to the Vigilante's. Assuming he gains control of it, and he's abusing it enough I believe he will… then we have two large dragons to contend with."

A host of frightened murmurs rose up.

"All the more reason to strike down the Vigilante immediately! We can't fight two Bewilderbeasts at once!"

And the war plans resumed, all the more vigorously than before. While once a sense of urgency danced upon the walls, now a horrid pressure built upon them, of time rushing away, of the deaths of future men collapsing upon them if they failed. Though some chiefs continued balking about the gamble they were making entering the Mazy Multitudes – even just the southern edge of the islands – in general consensus amongst the tribal representative rose up they could indeed strike at the Vigilante now. That they _needed_ to strike her now. And that they could succeed in such an assault. One tall and lean young man even spoke so confidently as to boast, "It will be good to see that dragon rider's head on the edge of my spear after we take the fort."

To which Hiccup responded, suddenly quite firm for the first time this meeting, with a resounding, "_No_."

Everyone turned their gaze toward the young chief.

"We're not killing her," he announced adamantly.

Tantrum raised her eyebrows. Longsword frowned. An old woman from the back – the Elder of the Northern Wanderer Tribe – snorted and scoffed aloud, "You're _one_ chief, young man. This is not your decision to make. If everyone else wants her dead, she'll be dead unless you get to her first."

"If we mean to be the voice of peace in this war, and _end _it, rather than charging out with unnecessary aggression, then –"

Hiccup was cut off. The Elder, stepping forward so that her face was only _mostly_, rather than completely, obscured by shadow, intoned, "Do you really still hold onto such peaceful ideals? After every horrid thing you have seen the past four years?"

Hiccup stared up at her as she pronounced, "The Vigilante cannot be turned. Cannot be imprisoned or contained. There _is_ no mercy for someone like her."

Ever since the Elder had met Hiccup and placed the Slavemark on his forehead, she held such an unwavering opinion of the Vigilante. Yet it never had been such a direct point of contention until now.

_Even if the Vigilante weren't my mother, I wouldn't want her dead._

At least none of the chieftains at the table knew his relation to that dragon rider.

Responding to the Elder, Hiccup said, "That's exactly what got us into a war in the first place. The firm opinion that other people are bad and can't be changed. It's why Drago's dragon trappers attacked the Vigilante, and it's why she attacked back. And everything escalated from there. That _is_ how this whole war started, if you remember."

Before the Elder could once more speak up, Hiccup gestured – a bit of a wild sweep of his hands, but somehow intent nonetheless – and clarified, "I want this war to end just as much as you. And I won't just naïvely let the Vigilante go away. But at the same time, I will _not_ turn myself into a second Drago in the process, or a second Vigilante. Maybe you're right and I can't stop you from killing her if you reach her first. But if I have the chance, I _will_ spare her."

_I cannot kill you as you killed my father._

_But I will keep you from killing others._

_I will end this war._


	3. III Respite

**III.**

"You," Astrid remarked with a painful verbal stab, "are late."

She stood atop a cliffside which overlooked Dragon Island's eastern harbor. Hooligans occupied both Dragon Island and Berk, currently, as two stations of the war, and in the last month, the Haddocks had remained on the former. Thus, behind Astrid, down a few rolling hills, a cluttered village of wood-carved Viking houses awaited her, along with a number of bustling Vikings and dragons. Hiccup could not hear or see many details from the distance, but he well-knew by now what he would find. Small fishing boats in the harbor. The clang of a forge rising up alongside peaceful conversations. Children darting down pathways, laughing. Not home, not like Berk, but still… welcoming.

The chief alighted from his dragon; with a quick hop, he pulled himself out of Toothless' saddle, adjusted the gear on his prosthetic foot, and stepped down to genteelly greet the missus. The dragon grumbled contentedly at finally landing on solid ground, and turned away to his own tasks while the two young Vikings reunited.

Hiccup glided up to Astrid with a small knowing smile on his face, cape fluttering behind him with his distinctive, swinging stride. "And you," Hiccup returned more politely, drawing his wife into a short kiss on the lips, "shouldn't be out in this weather." He glanced downward, just a little, toward her swollen belly. Astrid glanced down, too.

Still carrying on a terse and sardonic voice, she returned, "I am fine," and after a little emphatic pause, declared, "and so is the baby. Gods. You don't even handle dragon eggs this delicately. Do I need to remind you how many times my axe has saved your stupid life?"

"Ah – ah, I know, I'm sorry," Hiccup stumbled. With his arm around her waist, the chief started leading Astrid back toward the village proper. "Just want him safe."

"_Her_," Astrid insisted, quickly yanking on the braid at the back of his head. Likely as not, it had loosened and come slightly undone during the blustery flight home, and she wished to sit him down and fix his hair immediately. "I am quite sure it will be a her."

"Her then," Hiccup agreed amiably. For all he presided as chief over the tribe, he knew when his wife was in control. Instead of bickering, he continued on the conversation, pointing out, "You know, we still haven't come up with a name for her."

"I've got a few ideas."

When she failed to elaborate, Hiccup prompted, "Aren't you going to share them with me? And what about _my_ ideas?"

"I don't know if I trust your ideas. You named your first dragon '_Toothless'_, that young Driver Dragon 'Spiky', and your Terrible Terror 'Sharpshot'."

"Sharpshot isn't a bad name," Hiccup protested with a shrug. He glanced back at Toothless, bouncing gleefully behind them, as though asking for affirmation from a friend. But whatever support Hiccup wanted, the dragon did not give, too distracted by the sudden, apparently frightening appearance of a grey squirrel skittering at his feet. Hiccup chuckled as the dragon jumped before resuming his playful argument with Astrid. "And if I remember correctly, you called your Terrible Terror 'Sneaky', which frankly isn't any better." His voice fell into a lighthearted sarcastic jibe at the last point.

Astrid turned around to glare him in the eye while still walking toward the Hooligans' settlement. She completely avoided his remark about her childhood Terrible Terror and instead ranted on about his own insufficiencies, which were quite many, so it seemed. "And don't even get me started on the names of all the islands from your old mapping project. Even _Tuffnut_ could have done better than that, and he's the one who once decided to call his old Dragon Racing team 'Snotnuts'. But every single time I open the map, I'm greeted with geography like 'Itchy Armpit Island', 'Squashed Bug Bay,' and 'Butthole Harbor'."

"I did _not_ name anything Buttho –" Hiccup laughed mid-sentence, explaining, "Toothless helped me name things."

"Well, he's not helping name _our_ kid," Astrid determined. "I am not going to wind up with a daughter named 'Slobbering Tongue'."

"We – we could always do something more traditional, like some of my relatives' names."

"Your family has as terrible naming habits as you do, babe. Don't for a second suggest 'Chinhilda' or I'm going to punch you." Her voice was deceptively sweet as she threatened him. Then again, she often punched him when she felt like being sweet, anyway.

"Then by all means, milady," Hiccup returned, "do tell me what you've come up with."

"Well," she said glibly, "I was thinking maybe 'Ella' or 'Maire'. What do you think?"

Hiccup answered, "Sound fine. We can talk more about it later."

With a huff, Astrid returns, "That means you don't like them!"

"It means I'm _considering_ them."

"Fine then," she said. She turned around to give Toothless a friendly nudge in the nose. "You'll convince him for me, won't you?" she asked.

Changing conversations, Hiccup asked, "So how was the village while I was gone?" They passed the first line of houses, all of them simply constructed, not painted, but cozy nonetheless. A few men and women glanced up from their works and waved at the passing couple.

"Oh, nothing exciting, really. Unless you count the twins accidentally setting fire to the armory."

The chief rolled his eyes. Sure enough, as they passed the low, long building, a horrid whiff of smoke caught their noses, and more than a few patches of the building sported charred, blackened wood. He glanced over it briefly before walking onward. He would speak to the Thorstons and examine the damage more at a later time. "You sure it was accidental?"

"Who can ever know with the two of them? Sometimes I feel as though neither Tuffnut nor Ruffnut have ever grown up."

"Well," said Hiccup, glancing back at Toothless and remembering when his dragon ended his own childhood – a euphemism to say the least – "sometimes I feel as though that's not always a bad thing. I'd certainly prefer that to war councils." He glanced uncomfortably downward to fidget with his belt buckle.

Astrid, concerned, inquired, "Did it not go well?" She leaned down and inward to force Hiccup to look her in the eye.

"No, no, it went just fine. I'm no master war strategist, but… well. The other chiefs are more than competent enough."

"_You're_ competent," Astrid protested.

"We actually might have a good plan and a way out of this war. One of them, anyway. The Vigilante's stowed away in Fort Sinister, and we drafted up a battle strategy to surround her." He chuckled slightly, muttering, "I never thought I'd sound so much like my father."

"This sounds really good, though!" Astrid jubilantly responded as they stepped toward the center of the village. She widened her eyes for emphasis. "This means we'll actually be able to put a stop to her and not have to worry about our dragons turning against us!"

"Yeah, well," Hiccup mumbled, "that was the most _difficult_ part of the meeting."

"What was?"

"I – I want the end of this war just as much as any Viking. Maybe even more than some. I just tried to fight the council of chiefs not to kill her once we…"

"Did you tell them why?" Astrid asked quietly.

"No." Hiccup, pursing his lips, responded in even softer a voice, "It wouldn't do well for everyone to know that the Vigilante is my mother."

Sensing her husband's discomfort, Astrid walked in silence for a short moment, and then after a respectful moment turned around and said, "It shouldn't matter to them, anyway. You have done amazing things, Hiccup. You've done so much."

Hiccup glanced around at the entire village.

"I just hope it'll be enough."

"It will be," Astrid said with a small smile. She stepped up to the porch of one of the houses – _their_ residence on Dragon Island – and beckoned him to step inside. "Come on, babe. Everything is going to work out fine."

"But –"

"No," she said. "No buts. Relax, Hiccup. You're overworked. Let's make tonight a time to relieve some of that stress."


	4. IV The Mazy Multitudes

**IV.**

As soon as the ships turned port and entered the narrow channels of the archipelago, Hiccup began to question the Viking chiefs' decision to navigate through the Mazy Multitudes.

Rather, there was no "beginning" to question. He questioned the choice _completely_ after even a few hours inside the poorly-charted territory.

The Sea Stacks back home on Berk were treacherous enough, enormous, tall, tight-packed rock formations jutting straight out of the east harbor like haphazardly scattered pillars. From seemingly nowhere they launched out of the waters with precipices vertical to the earth's surface. Yet these appeared like calm, uninterrupted, smooth landscapes when confronted with the Mazy Multitude's impossibly sword-sharp surfaces, fang-like projections out of the water, deceptively shallow, unexpected shoals arising in what one would have expected deep water, peculiar current leaning up against jagged, fang-filled cliff sides. Everything grew in bitter spikes, aquatic stalactites and oceanic fangs pushing urgently, incessantly, increasingly out of the water as though the very earth wished to swallow the Berk fleet whole. The boats had to flee the jaws of many a wide-mawed, sharp-toothed stone attacker as they desperately turned, swirled, curved, and urgently, rapidly swung their ships about the projecting obstacles. Even one small incisor peeking up from out the water would be enough to tear apart the side of the ship. Above, blocking out the sky, tall, tight-packed canyons, separate, looming islands leaning ominously in to crush each ship as it sailed, bent inward with increasing fervency. Perhaps some unseen force, whenever a Viking glanced away, moved the cliffs in forward to squeeze the ships. Or perhaps the islands themselves were that menace, and each sentient crag of unforgiving rock held a personal desire to capture, crush, and engulf the sails and rigging and masts and sides and belly of every tiny Viking ship inward creeping.

_No wonder the Vikings abandoned Fort Sinister, _Hiccup thought to himself, wincing as the keel to his own vessel nearly collided with a precipice squeezing in toward the fleet. _And if the stronghold is anything like this archipelago, I think I have an idea why they named it 'sinister'._

This place was forbidding and unwelcoming even to stubborn, strong-minded, hardy Vikings. Everyone had been unnaturally quiet ever since they had come here.

In a way, though, the impossibly serrated world of stone and sea aided the Hooligans and other Viking tribes. With such a landscape as this, they could better approach the Vigilante's new base completely unseen. Fom the starboard of the ship, though, Hiccup could spy Eret staring out intently at the world anyway, brown eyes panning worriedly across the skies in sign of hostile dragons. Thus far, he had spoken naught, suggesting Eret's keen eyes had not yet snagged even a glimpse of a Whispering Death, Smothering Smokebreath, or Deadly Shadow.

Hiccup decided to ask Eret anyway about his outlook as a method to break the eerie silence of their voyage more than anything else. "See anything?" he inquired, and was thankful that his voice came out his throat rather casually.

"Not the tip of a tail," Eret answered. He turned his eye away from his lookout to meet the chief in the eye. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we were sailing to the wrong side of the world. We're supposed to be seeing _more_ dragons the closer we come to the Vigilante, not less."

"Well maybe she keeps them all close to her," Hiccup suggested thoughtfully. His mind turned back to the few days he had stayed in her stronghold back north. Her dragons had flown in and out of the mountainside at will at that time, though his observations of the place had been a carefully-managed, indubitably loyal hive.

Presided over by the Bewilderbeast.

He did not look forward to confronting that creature again. Especially not if all the other dragons _were_ there. That would be quite a force to confront even with all their planning.

Eret, answering Hiccup's comment, stated, "Either way, I don't like it."

Hiccup opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, someone's sharp shout from the front of the vessel directed his attention immediately elsewhere, and with boot and prosthetic foot clopping on deck, he rushed forward.

A recent wreckage painted a mosaic on the side of a jutting cliff. The masts of the Hooligan ship now plunged downward like stakes into the ocean. Men swam desperately to shore – at least, the nearest piece of land to which they could cling without being stabbed. And there was indeed a beach of some sorts, covered in blackened pebbles, up ahead, over which drenched heaps of Vikings crawled hands-and-knees.

"Hurry, help them aboard, save as many supplies as we can – _without risking our own ship!_" Hiccup, urgent, directed. And thus ropes were cast out and dinghies lowered into the water, men and women colliding into one another on deck as they rushed about to assist the capsized Hooligans. Water sloshed on ships as soggy, hairy men dripped onto deck and the vessel became crowded with double the number of men meant to hold it.

"Is everyone on board? Is everyone safe?"

"Chief." A sudden wet hand holding him on the forearm. Hiccup turned to Starkard, the one who had touched him. The thick-bearded Viking pointed to the shore and said, "It's Fishlegs. He says you need to see something on land."

Hiccup furrowed his eyebrows as he glanced before him, noting the stout dragon enthusiast's shape waving wildly from a distance. He could see little more than that and the sharp spires of their hazardous surroundings – no aberration at all to indicate what Fishlegs had noted.

"Did he say what it is?"

"No, sir. Just that you had to see it with your own eyes."

Not five minutes later and Hiccup was lowered into the waters on a small boat himself, rowing carefully to the shore past the drifting flotsam from their broken ship. Oars whacked wood as often as water, barrels and broken side boards and shattered chests, yet still somehow Hiccup managed to navigate to the shores without colliding into too large of an object. The dinghy pulled up with the soft crunch of gravel onto the dark grey pebbled shores; he stepped out, pulled it up, and placed the oars inside before striding up to rendezvous with Fishlegs.

His peer wore eyes double the size that should be capable of any human being, pupils bugging out and straining the strength of his lids to hold them in. He jittered, either excited or nervous, or perhaps a bit of both. Fishlegs sometimes reacted rather similarly between those two emotions.

"Hiccup! Hiccup! Chief!" he cried, rushing up and spraying gravel all across the shore with his rushing footfalls. "You've got to see this! Look."

"Hold on, Fishlegs," Hiccup answered slowly, eyes scanning the landscape. Still he could see no reason for the young man's anxiousness. "I'm here. Just tell me – what's going on? What did you find?"

Fishlegs gasped, "You're not going to believe it." He pointed past a cluster of stacked boulders, whispering, "It's behind there."

Silent, Hiccup followed behind his friend. They crawled over rocks, not once seeing sight of living foliage, not a single browned brush or leaf from a tree. All was dead. Soundless.

The boulders Fishlegs directed Hiccup toward were not too far away, though still enough of a distance that the journey brought Fishlegs to puffs and Hiccup heart-pounding anticipation. And when they turned the corner of their destined rock formation and both glanced to the left side, Hiccup marveled, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Mhm. Look here." Fishlegs walked forward, crouched down, and reached out to touch his finding. Parched white bones rested, almost as though the entire skeleton were taking a mere nap. Fishlegs reverently touched a knuckle, remarking, "Four legs and a set of wings, about eight and a half meters in length. Enormous wing span. Bone structure indicating…"

"Fishlegs, I don't need the statistics on a dead dragon," Hiccup said.

His friend corrected in a reverent whisper, "Dead Night Fury."

"Wow." Hiccup himself could not speak great volumes. "A Night Fury lived here! How – how - how long ago did it die? Can you tell? Is it recent enough to say there might be more living in this place?"

"It could be recent… I can only guess," Fishlegs said. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he scrutinized the evidence. "Long enough we only have bones… but I don't know how quickly the body would rot on this island… it's all dependent on so many things. Temperature, type of soil…"

_Is there anything you haven't studied up on?_ Hiccup thought, briefly amused, thoughts zoning out from Fishlegs' continued, lengthy explanation.

"…so I don't know. It could be recent. Might not be."

"Well, this is the first Night Fury I've seen in the wild since I met Toothless as a teenager," Hiccup remarked. "This is… this is something." There were no easy words to describe his thoughts.

"It really is." Fishlegs said. "I almost want to just stay and study it. Think of all that we could learn!"

"Is this another excuse to avoid a battle?"

"No! I mean… well… that wouldn't hurt… but Hiccup… Chief…"

"We can't leave you behind in this area," Hiccup pointed out, glancing around at the forbidding landscape. "It's probably not safe. On any other occasion, it _would_ have been good to learn more. Even if I would much rather see a live Night Fury than a dead one."

"Oh, same, same here. Nearly gave me a heart attack when I turned the corner and _booom! _…there it was." Hiccup could suddenly understand why Fishlegs seemed so excited and chilled at the same time; it was evidence of a rare dragon, but also a bit of an ominous omen to encounter a skeleton on an otherwise uninhabited world.

"Well thank you for showing me this," Hiccup said. His eyes remained locked on the skeleton even as Fishlegs stood and brushed off dust from his knees. "Makes me question even more where the Night Furies went. Although maybe…"

His eyes turned toward the northeast, the direction their fleet currently sailed.

"…there might be more… living… Night Furies with the Vigilante here."

He did not know if he celebrated or dreaded such a thought.


	5. V Assault on Fort Sinister

**V.**

The earth trembled.

Not slightly, either. An enormous, sudden, rock-shifting, powerful _heft_ – as though some giant had taken the slabs of the earth and shifted them at will – rocked every stone on the island.

Every stone _within_ the island, too.

For Hiccup had before in his life felt the world trembling beneath him and felt intimidated. Yet watching the stone sudden shudder above him now made for all the more a terrifying experience.

He ducked as the precipitation of thumb-sized pebbles clattered to the floor, yet a few rocks still pounded at him as he and his men rushed through a series of tunnels, nothing but torchlights and an unreliable map guiding their way.

The Viking fleet had moored about a day's determined march from Fort Sinister to prepare for battle against the Vigilante, pulling out what war machines they could carry on deck, others quickly assembling the parts of those which could not be transported in one piece. The scrape, scrape, scrape of men sharpening swords and women testing the blades of their axes resounded throughout camp that night, while a few carefully low-kept fires cooked as hearty of meals as travel could offer, but Hiccup and his small company had not lingered amongst the main forces for long. As soon as everyone had shored, he and a select team had quickly scouted the area, hoping that the rumors spread from other Viking chiefs were true.

That there were Whispering Death tunnels beneath the island surface which led to Fort Sinister.

They had, at any rate, discovered the tunnels, clearly chawed away in the past by rock-gorging Boulder class dragons. Whether or not these actually led to the lairs of Fort Sinister had yet to be determined.

At once the ground roared louder than any angry dragon, and stones again thundered down to the earth, this time no small pebble shower but a sudden hailing of blackened slate. "Look out!" – a shout, and two men dived away from a sudden monster hurling down to the floor. The boulder crushed the ground beneath it. Both men, safe but winded, stared at the great slab while gasping heavily on their knees and palms, frightened but thankful to be breathing.

"Keep going, keep going," another voice called out, a woman's gruff alto speech confidently marching forward with a torch. Her arm boldly held above her braids a tongue of flame, lighting tall but narrow chasms of pure rock in a blackened, lifeless world of underground caves. The flickering, unsteady light cast more shadows than light upon the tight, gruff corridors, yet it was far better that than blackness, so all the Hooligan men and women in the party strove after it eagerly.

Only a few other small bursts of torchfire flashed amongst the company, making already-treacherous footing nearly impossible to step through without tripping at least once every step. Yet few grumbles called out oaths; instead, anxious, ragged breaths accompanied them and little more. Their guide at the front, marching alongside Hiccup, was one of the few brave enough to use her voice.

"Are we almost there, chief?" she asked him, for Hiccup trotted alongside her, best as he could with his peg leg making difficult his trek through the darkness. As one they ducked beneath a slate ledge and squirmed through the momentarily squeezing confines of their passage.

Hiccup glared over the map which another one of the chiefs – back during the meeting they had first strategized this attack – had given him. He twisted the map along several angles while pursing his lips and squinting in the dim, near-unreadable light. "Not sure," he admitted. "I'm not even one hundred percent sure we're still heading northeast."

"Oh that's just lovely," another voice muttered behind him.

"Quiet, Snotlout. Let Hiccup do the navigating."

"Is there even any navigating to be done?" the young man protested, waving his hands in the dim light. "That map he's holding is for the surface, not these stupid tunnels! This whole mission is based on little more than a guess."

The Viking behind them continued griping even as others sought to run beyond him and ignore his pessimistic diatribe. "I get the rest of the battle strategy for this attack on Sinister. The attack on the front of the gates. The other tribes sweeping in from two other directions. Attempts to lure the dragons out of the sky and away from the fortress and the dragon lady. But this – this – this –" he kept repeating the same word because he was puffing too hard "– this I don't like one bit."

Hiccup was begging to think he should have left his cousin in the other main party of Hooligan warriors.

"The battle can still be won even if we fail," Hiccup began, but he was cut off before he could state another word of explanation.

"Then why are we doing this?"

With only a few remnants of patience, the chief responded, "Because if we _are_ successful, we make the rest of the battle a lot less bloody and a whole lot more easily won. And we're not _entirely_ guessing about where we're headed." He lowered his voiced and pointed upward, though it was doubtful Snotlout could see the motion even though the chief walked next to the torchlight. "Listen."

What might have been an intent frown settled on Snotlout's shadow-bathed face.

"What am I listening for?"

Another roar, boom, and tremor took the caves.

"That."

"Yeah? So what?"

"That enormous rumbling sound and half the tunnel ceiling crashing down on us would happen be our armies fighting above. We've come to the right place. Now we just need to find a way to the surface or directly inside her fort from here." Hiccup began scanning the ceiling – the blackness which should have been the ceiling, anyway – for signs of a tunnel leading to the surface. Whispering Death caves frequently returned and broke through the surface of the earth, creating frequent entrances and exits.

_The idea to have a small group sneak underground to reach Fort Sinister might work after all._

Hiccup, not at all the veteran war general amongst the other Viking chiefs, but one rather quite knowledgeable in the ways of many dragon species, naturally had volunteered for this task. And inside his mind then, and creeping into his thoughts now, ran the idea that maybe – maybe somehow – this would provide him the opportunity to approach the Vigilante first.

_To capture her before they kill her._

_But still… to stop her._

_To end this front of the war._

An enormous above-ground explosion rocked the earth below it. Hiccup clambered to place his hands on the rough rock walls to steady himself.

Vibrations, vibrations, vibrations, echoing, shuddering, throughout the earth.

Shudder.

Shudder.

Silent.

"Come on," he murmured when the entire world steadied.

"Are you sure?" Snotlout asked.

"Yeah, we're fine."

"No… keep listening."

Another rumble rattled the earth, but not coming from a source above-ground.

_Whispering Deaths._

"Hurry!" a sudden exclamation, quiet as could be while alerting the others. Everyone scrambled, ducking into crags, curling into balls, fleeing for tributaries from the main tunnel. Sudden flashes of spikes shot forth through the tunnel – one – two – three – and on and on – a dozen at least in full – before the world again returned to silence and stillness.

Everyone, hearts thudding horribly, only slowly rose to their feet.

They slipped forward, feet crunching on recently-fallen pebbles, turning to the left, drifting through dragon-chewed slate and ducking between stalagmites and stalactites.

A gust whipped out the torch held in every hand. Wind slipped suddenly into the passageway, extinguishing light.

But revealing the twinkling of indirect sunlight streaming in above them.

"We have our exit," Hiccup murmured, squinting upward. The sudden natural light seemed abnormally bright, and thus he found it difficult to notice any details in the world aboveground, but he did nevertheless believe he caught sight of stone stacked on stone. "And it's right next to our destination."


End file.
